Page 46

Nate

Marcos is standing by the fence, forearm resting on the top rung where Uncle Jes is sitting.

Below me, Annabelle’s sides heave in agitation and she tries to sidestep again.

I correct her automatically, body rolling easily with the motion of hers.

She tosses her head and stomps a front hoof, dragging it over the grass in annoyance.

“I warned you, kid,” Uncle Jes calls. Annabelle twitches at the volume, acting as though he blew an airhorn instead of raised his voice.

Sighing, I rein her closer to the fence so we don’t have to yell, legs straining under the effort of keeping her in control.

I cannot believe this is the horse someone bought their twelve-year-old.

“She’s not great,” I admit. Uncle Jes snorts, and Marcos looks between us silently. “This isn’t a horse for a kid, Jes.”

“Well, it’s the horse they bought. Fools,” he adds under his breath. “I told John I’d try, but no promises.”

Annabelle attempts to prance away from the fence, back feet hopping a bit as though she’s contemplating trying to throw me off. I bring her under control, and her back quivers in indignation.

“Barrel horse?” I ask. Sometimes barrel horses are retired and struggle to find new homes, too used to being ran to death that they can’t do anything else.

“Maybe. I took her out in the north pasture, and let her have her head and she was fine. Seems she just wants to run.”

“Hm. Well, I’ll take her out and see how she does on the trail.”

“Good. That’s what they want her for.” Lifting his hat off, Uncle Jes scratches his forehead with the brim. “Pretty little thing, but the attitude is a bit rough.”

“Sometimes the antsy ones do better beyond the fence,” I say, trying to give Annabelle the benefit of the doubt, even though I’m pretty sure she’s just trouble. “I’ll take her out for a couple hours. Maybe the Trout Run trail?”

“It’s pretty washed out back there, you’d be better off on one of the east paths.” He tips his head back and looks at the clear blue sky. “Supposed to rain later, too, so make sure you’re home in time. I don’t want you riding back on that demon in the dark.”

“Only a couple hours,” I promise, glancing at Marcos. He’s watching Annabelle toss her head up and down, unhappy with having to stand still. Her muscles quiver, and her neck is already speckled with sweat.

Jes claps a hand on the fence and hops down. Annabelle startles to the right and I huff an annoyed breath, walking her back over. Jesus, this horse is skittish. Maybe she wasn’t a barrel horse after all. Maybe, she’s just crazy.

I sidestep her over to the fence until I’m closer to Marcos, waiting for Uncle Jes to be out of earshot before I talk .

“You going to be okay for a few hours?” I ask.

I’ve gone on a few solo rides since we’ve been here, but I kept them short, knowing he was here and not wanting to leave him floundering with nothing to do.

This’ll likely be a lot longer of a ride, and it’s only midday—I’m abandoning him at the time we’re usually doing something together.

“Of course. Your uncle said we could use the kitchen at his house, so I might cook something. There’s only so much canned soup a man can eat. Tuna needs to eat, too, so he’ll keep me busy.”

“You can saddle up Friday if you want, as well. Ride her around the pasture. Close to the house, though,” I amend quickly. “Where Jes could see you.”

“I’m not riding without you here,” he says firmly. “I wish I could just go with you.”

“Same. This won’t be a fun ride, though. And horses like this wreak havoc on the rest of them. She’s got bad energy, and the others would pick up on that.”

Annabelle moves closer to the fence and Marcos puts a hand on my leg, face tipped back to look up at me.

“A couple hours and you’ll be back?” Marcos asks, frowning.

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, I promise. I’ll tire out this psycho, and then come home to tire out you.”

Marcos rolls his eyes and backs away from us, muttering something in Spanish.

“You have your phone?” he asks, switching back to English.

“I’ve got it.” Turning Annabelle’s head, I look back over my shoulder for a final glimpse of Marcos. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

I see his lips move, but can’t hear him say it back as I put pressure on Annabelle’s sides. She springs forward like a sprinter off the block.

“All right, girl. You want to run? Let’s run.”

She doesn’t need telling twice.

I bring Annabelle down to a walk once we reach the fenced end of the field. Her sides are heaving and she blows out a hard breath, shaking her head. I get her over to the gate without any trouble, and lean over to unlatch it from her back. She’s already calmer than she was back by the barn.

“Taking a little stroll through the mountains, huh, girl?” I ask her, walking her through the gate, but leaving it open so I won’t have to bother with it on the return trip. Sweat already tracks down her sides from our gallop; I wonder if that alone will be enough to keep her calm.

She kicks up to a trot as we get on the well-worn trail, already trying to push back into a run.

I keep the reins short and control her with my legs, wanting to get her used to doing nothing more than walking.

If this is meant to be the horse a twelve-year-old will ride, she can’t be taking off like a fucking maniac all the time.

“You need to chill out a bit,” I tell her. “Behave yourself so that we can get this over with and go home, yeah?” I pat her neck, killing a fly and wiping it on my jeans. “Marcos is back there, which means I’ve got better things to do than try to teach you manners.”

She doesn’t do terrible as we stroll along, although every ambient noise seems to frighten her.

When a stick cracks under her own hoof, she jolts as though I fired a gun from her back.

The entire time we walk, her ears are on a constant swivel—darting around as she desperately tries to listen for predators.

I can only imagine how she’d react if we did ride up on a bear.

Despite the low-level distress she’s projecting, she’s not behaving too badly.

An experienced rider could handle her, certainly, although I’m still not convinced she’s got the makings of a trail or pleasure horse.

I wonder, actually, if she’s so fearful and skittish because she’s not used to being in this environment.

Horses who are mainly ridden in arenas don’t always do well in the woods.

“That’s all right,” I soothe her. “Nothing scary out here, I’ll show you.”

Checking the time on my phone, I realize it’s already been longer than I’d thought.

I don’t want to turn back around quite yet though.

No sense in half-assing the job just because I miss Marcos.

He’s only just started feeling more comfortable going on long rides with me, but in the few weeks we’ve been doing it, I’ve already become attached to the practice. Going out without him feels wrong, now.

“Little bit longer, Miss Annabelle. How does that sound?” She snorts, and I imagine there is quite a bit of disdain in the sound. She’s probably wishing I’d let her walk closer to the pine trees so she could attempt to rub me off.

A little later, thunder rumbles overhead and I look up, surprised.

We’ve barely been gone for a couple hours and the storm wasn’t supposed to come in until tonight.

Leaving the tree line, I stop Annabelle in a clearing and take a look at the sky.

Dark clouds gather over the mountains, and as I watch, a fork of lightning briefly illuminates the dark.

“Shit.” I sigh. Afternoon storms are common in the mountains and on the plains, but this one was meant to wait until a little later .

Instead of turning Annabelle back the way we came, I bring her down a trail that branches toward the right. It’s something of a shortcut, and will eventually spit us out at a road. It’ll be quicker to take her back that way instead of trying to pick our way through the trees.

The next rumble of thunder sends Annabelle lurching to the right, hard enough to scrape my leg against a tree. Fat drops of rain start falling, and her ears twitch in panic.

“Calm down,” I soothe her, tightening the reins even shorter and reaching out to stroke her neck. Her skin quivers beneath my palm, damp with moisture despite how sedate our pace is. She’s worked herself into such a state, she’s sweating more than she should. “Just a little rain, no need to fuss.”

Annabelle apparently thinks there is something to fuss about, and every roll of thunder comes with a struggle to keep her from bolting.

Holding the reins in a firm grip with my left hand, I keep her controlled mainly with my legs as I lift my phone and check my signal.

There are just enough bars to send Marcos an audio message.

“Hey, Marcos. Hopefully you’re okay back there, I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. Annabelle and I are headed back now, taking the Fern Loop down to the Paulsons’ place. It’ll be easier to ride back that way. Anyway, just wanted to check in. Love you, hate this fucking horse. Okay, bye.”

I send it, wiping water off the screen to watch as the message attempts to go through despite the low signal. Locking it and tucking the phone back away in my pocket, I focus once more on keeping the horse in control. She is a full-time-fucking-job.

The tree line begins to break and Annabelle’s hooves click against the rocks poking through the dirt.

The rain is really starting to fall now, and I’m grateful I thought to put on a ball cap this morning.

Water trickles down the back of my neck, and drips from the brim.

It’s already turning cold, the temperature at least ten degrees cooler than it was half an hour ago.

The next boom of thunder is so loud it echoes off the mountains.

Annabelle spooks forward, trying to run.

Her body tips to the side as her hooves slip on the slick rocks underfoot, and she gives a shrill whinny.

Fully panicking now, she tries to bolt and slides once more on the sodden ground.

This time, she isn’t able to catch herself.

The saddle creaks ominously as she stumbles, and I’m just able to get my right foot out of the stirrup before she falls.